;-NRLF 


ALE  VERSE 


" 


CHAUNCEY  WETMORE  WELLS 

1872-1933 


This  book  belonged  to  Chauncey  Wetmore  Wells.  He  taught  in 
Yale  College,  of  which  he  was  a  graduate,  from  1897  to  1901,  and 
from  1901  to  1933  at  this  University. 

Chauncey  Wells  was,  essentially,  a  scholar.  The  range  of  his  read- 
ing was  wide,  the  breadth  of  his  literary  sympathy  as  uncommon 
as  the  breadth  of  his  human  sympathy.  He  was  less  concerned 
with  the  collection  of  facts  than  with  meditation  upon  their  sig- 
nificance. His  distinctive  power  lay  in  his  ability  to  give  to  his 
students  a  subtle  perception  of  the  inner  implications  of  form, 
of  manners,  of  taste,  of  the  really  disciplined  and  discriminating 
mind.  And  this  perception  appeared  not  only  in  his  thinking  and 
teaching  but  also  in  all  his  relations  with  books  and  with  men. 


YALE  VERSE 


COMPILED  BY 

CHARLES  EDMUND  MERRILL,  JR. 


NEW  YORK 

MAYNARD,  MERRILL,  &  CO. 
1899 


COPYRIGHT,  1899, 

BY 
MAYNARD,  MERRILL,  &  CO. 


IN  MEMORIAM 

C\)J.\X)e\U 


NOTE 


An  editor's  judgment,  at  best,  is  only  personal, 
and  it  is  certain  that  there  are  omissions  from 
this  volume  that  many  will  regret ;  it  is  hoped, 
however,  that  at  least  the  spirit  of  the  under- 
graduate verse  of  the  last  decade  at  Yale  is 
fairly  represented. 

The  contents  of  the  book,  without  exception, 
have  been  taken  from  the  files  of  the  Yale 
Courant,  the  Yale  Literary  Magazine,  and  the 
Yale  Record,  and  to  the  editorial  boards  of  these 
papers,  without  whose  co-operation  Yale  Verse 
could  not  have  been  compiled,  and  to  Mr.  C.  W. 
Wells,  '96,  for  valuable  assistance,  the  editor's 
thanks  are  due. 

NEW  YORK,  December,  iSg8. 


TO 

L.  W.  B. 

These  idle  songs  of  yesterday 
Must  now  the  idle  hours  betray 
Of  that  brief  ^tnf or  gotten  time 
Of  primroses  and  bells  achime, 
And  hopes  and  fears  too  svveet  to  stay. 

So  all  of  youth  our  roundelay  ; 
No  rapt  heroics  we  essay, 
Nor  to  the  clear  cold  heights  may  climb 
These  idle  songs. 

No  !  of  the  valleys  green  and  gay 
(Our  caps  and  gowns  a  merry  mime 
Of  caps  and  bells')  we  make  our  rhyme  ; 
Worthless?    Ah,  thafsfor  you  to  say, 
For  whom  were  gathered  by  the  way 
These  idle  songs. 


CONTENTS 


After  Reading  "The 
Manly  Heart"  . 

Afterwhile,     . 

Arab  Love  Song, 

Arbutus, 

At  Even, 

Aurora,  The, 

Ballade  of  Peaceful 
Defeat, 

Ballad  of  Poet's  Love, 

Bell,  The, 

Block  Island, 

By  Percee's  Rill,  . 

Cassandra,      . 

Choice 

Corpse's  Clock,  The,   . 

Cradle  Song, 

Cynic,  The,     . 

D'Artagnan's  Ride,      . 

Dirge,  A, 

Dark  Clouds, 

Dorothy, 

Down  the  Road,    . 

Drinking  Tea, 

Dusk  and  Dawn,  . 

Epitaph, 

Exhortation, 


Robert  L.  Hunger,         .       .  47 

W.  A.  Moore,    .        .               -  95 

Arthur  Willis  Colton,     .        .  87 

Arthur  Willis  Colton,     .       .  55 

Robert  L.  Hunger,          .        .  140 

Huntington  Mason,        .        .  90 
j  Sidney  Robinson  Kennedy,    I 
I  Charles  Edmund  Merrill,  Jr., »    9 

Albert  Sargent  Davis,    .        .  20 

Huntington  Mason,        .        .  118 
P.  L.  Thompson,      .        .        .148 

Frederick  Tilney,    ...  24 

Richard  H.  Worthington,     .  92 

Charles  B.  De  Camp,      .        .  72 

Huntington  Hason,         .        .  46 

Robert  L.  Hunger,          .       .  145 

Hugh  A.  Callahan,          .        .  150 

Gouverneur  Horris,        .        .  40 

Chauncey  Wetmore  Wells,  .  150 

William  Lyon  Phelps,    .        .  88 

Chauncey  Wetmore  Wells,  .  85 

Herbert  A.  Smith,  ...  51 

Arthur  Willis  Colton,     .        .  158 

Charles  Potter  Hine,      .        .  102 

Charles  Edmund  Herrill,  Jr.,  73 

Charles  B.  De  Camp,      .       .  83 


CONTENTS 


r 

AGE 

Fall,         .... 

Charles  Potter  Hine, 

65 

Fool  in  Lear,  The, 

Hugh  A.  Callahan, 

79 

From  the  Class  Poem 

of  1889, 

T.  W.  Buchanan,     . 

7i 

From  the  Class  Poem 

of  1890, 

Arthur  Willis  Colton,     . 

53 

From  the  Class  Poem 

of  1896, 

A.  R.  Thompson,     . 

103 

God's  Will,     .       . 

Robert  L.  Munger, 

82 

Horace  in  New  Haven, 

Charles  Edmund  Merrill,  Jr., 

3i 

11  Bel  Canto, 

Charles  Edward  Thomas, 

86 

Interlude,  An, 

Sidney  Robinson  Kennedy, 

142 

Lament,  The, 

Albert  Sargent  Davis,    . 

58 

Lost  Memory,  A,  . 

Philip  Curran  Peck, 

Q8 

Love's  Blindness, 

Franklin  Atkins  Lord,   . 

IOO 

March,     .... 

Eugene  Watson  Burlingame, 

106 

Margaret, 

Charles  Edward  Thomas,     . 

109 

Mater  Dolorosa,    . 

Charles  Edward  Thomas,     . 

36 

May-Day, 

Charleton  M.  Lewis, 

29 

Moon-  Wine,    . 

Arthur  Willis  Colton,     . 

153 

Mountain  Flower, 

J.  W.  Broach,    .... 

62 

Mount  Osceola,     .        , 

Walter  D.  Makepeace,   . 

35 

Norns,  The,    . 

Charles  Edward  Thomas,     . 

124 

O  Fons  Bandusiae  !      . 

Charles  Edward  Thomas,     . 

ii 

Out  of  the  Night, 

Arthur  Willis  Colton,     . 

105 

Ophelia, 

Burton  J.  Hendrick, 

57 

Ophelia  of  To-day,  An, 

Lindsay  Denison, 

22 

Penelope, 

Burton  J.  Hendrick, 

127 

Pictures  in  Season, 

Charles  B.  De  Camp, 

49 

Questus  Amoris,  . 

Charles  Potter  Hine, 

in 

Rachael  at  Rama, 

Chauncey  Wetmore  Wells,  . 

126 

Reverie,  A,     ... 

Hugh  A.  Callahan, 

61 

Rubaiyat, 

Charles  Edmund  Merrill,  Jr., 

137 

Scholar,  The, 

Robert  L.  Munger, 

38 

Schubert, 

John  Victor  Doniphan,  Jr.,  . 

80 

Sleep,       .       .«    . 

Walter  D.  Makepeace,   . 

146 

8 

CONTENTS 


Song  (After  the  Sing- 
ing Birds  are  Gone), 

Song  (As  a  Dreamer 
in  the  Shade),  . 

Song  (Cradle's  Quiet), 

Song  (Lady,  when  at 
Evening  Hour), 

Song  (What  Must  Be 
Must  Be,  Little  One), 

Song  (When  Chimney 
Tops  are  Capped 
with  Snow), 

Song  from  "  Phocion 
and  Chloris,"  . 

Song  of  the  Sailor's 
Son,  .... 

Songs  of  the  Snow, 

Soul's  Recall,  The, 

Svend  the  Black, 

Tender  and  Cool  Is  the 
Night 

There's  One  Keeps 
Watch, 

They  Fought  so  Well, 

Threnody,  A, 

To  a  Moth,      . 

Transmigration,  . 

True  Drake  and  Gen- 
tleman Joceylin, 

Twilight  Voices, 

Vesper  Song, 

Vestal,  A,       ... 

Villanelle,      . 

Waiting  Year,  The,     . 

Water-Lily,  A, 

With  Passing  Years,    . 


PAGE 

Arthur  Willis  Colton,     .       .  37 

Robert  L.  Munger,         .       .  30 

Robert  L.  Munger,         .       .  117 

Arthur  Willis  Colton,    .       .  60 

Forsyth  Wickes,     '.       .       .  119 

Robert  L.  Munger,         .       .  121 

Arthur  Willis  Colton,    .       .  156 

Gouverneur  Morris,       .       .  155 

Arthur  Willis  Colton,     .       .  13 

Charles  Edward  Thomas,     .  76 

Charles  Edward  Thomas,     .  43 

Arthur  Willis  Colton,     .       .  144 

Forsyth  Wickes,      ...  64 

F.  L.  Thompson,      ...  38 

Charleton  M.  Lewis,       .       .  135 

Charles  Edward  Thomas,     .  18 

Edward  Wells,  Jr.,         .       .  122 

Gouverneur  Morris,       .       .  129 

T.  W.  Buchanan,     ...  67 

Sidney  Robinson  Kennedy,  107 

Arthur  Willis  Colton,     .        .  no 
H.  C.  Robbins,          .       .        .147 

A.  R.  Thompson,     .       .       .  115 

Walter  D.  Makepeace,   .        .  120 

Frederick  Tilney,    .       .       .  113 


O  FONS  BANDUSIAE! 

A  LAMENT 

O  FOUNTAIN  of  Bandusia  blest ! 
The  world's  been  growing  sadly  old, 
Since  first  thy  sacred  waters  ran 
In  sparkling  rivulets  of  gold. 

The  nymphs  that  made  the  echoes  ring, 
In  grot  and  grave,  with  laughter  gay, 
Long,  long  ago  grew  sore  dismayed 
And  with  the  satyrs  fled  away. 

Now  all  is  still  where  white-robed  priests 
Once  chanted  round  some  holy  shrine ; 
And  broods  the  silence  of  the  tomb 
Where  sat  the  sacred  sisters  nine. 
TI 


O  FONS  BANDUSIAE! 


,Qt  Fountain  of  Bandusia  blest ! 
(Dur  beaVts*  are  sad — we  sigh  with  thee, 
And  yearn  for  Pan  and  shepherd's  reeds 
And  old-time,  pastoral  revelry. 

But  Pan  is  dead.     Long,  long  ago 
They  snapped  his  shepherd's  reed  in  twain, 
Thy  streams  flow  on  thro'  endless  years, 
But  Pan  will  ne'er  come  back  again. 


SONGS  OF  THE  SNOW 
I 

PRELUDE 

BEAUTIFUL  snow  !  O  children  of  cloud ! 
The  day  is  departing,  the  night  cometh 

on, 
And  the  soft,  cloistral  face  of  the  night 

overbowed 

Looks  down  through  her  wavering  veil 
like  a  nun. 

The  sound  of  the  church  bells  drops  over 

the  air, 

And  my  thoughts  through  old  stones 
and  strange  legends  go. 
13 


SONGS  OF   THE   SNOW 

Lady  Irmingarde  kneels  at  her  window 

in  prayer 

Till  on  her  cold  eyelids  the  morning 
winds  blow. 

II 

CHRISTMAS  EVE 

The  Abbot  is  counting  his  beads  in  his 

cell 
With  a  flagon  beside  him.     The  Abbot 

drinks  well, 
And  he'll  empty  it  oft  ere  the  first  matin 

bell. 

All's  quiet,  all's  well ! 

"  Hist !    Brother   Menander,   a  word    in 

thine  ear ! 
I'll   show  thee   a  way,  if  the   corridor's 

clear, 

14 


SONGS  OF   THE   SNOW 

To  the  Abbot's  own  cellar.     The  Abbot 
may  hear? 

Never  fear,  never  fear !  " 

So  Brother  Menander,  and  bold  Brother 
John, 

Creeping  barefoot  and  scared,  reached  the 
cellar  anon, 

While  outside  the  moon  the  cold  snow- 
fields  upon 

• 

Shone  bitter  and  wan. 

But   whether    they   drank    till   the    first 

matin  bell 
And    were    caught    by    the    Abbot,    no 

chronicles  tell, 
But  I  know  it  was  Christmas  eve  when  it 

befell, 

And  all  quiet  and  well. 


SONGS  OF   THE  SNOW 


'ill 


THE  CAROL  SINGER 

Gentles  all,  or  knights  or  ladies, 
Happiness  be  yours,  alway ! 

Dance  and  caroling  our  trade  is, 
But  we  sing  for  love  to-day. 

Merry  lads  and  dainty  lasses 
Trip  beneath  the  mistletoe  ; 

Dance  to  sound  of  clinking  glasses, 
Bells  are  ringing  o'er  the  snow. 

By  the  look  that  on  your  face  is, 
Sweet,  my  song  is  worth  a  kiss ; 

There  is  weeping  in  cold  places, 
We  must  laugh  the  more  in  this. 
16 


SONGS  OF  THE   SNOW 

Gentles  all,  or  knights  or  ladies, 
Happiness  be  yours,  alway  ! 

Dance  and  caroling  our  trade  is, 
But  we  sing  for  love  to-day. 


IV 

L'ENVOI 

Cold  winds  sighing, 
Cold  flakes  flying, 

Cold  boughs  waving  to  and  fro  ; 
Cold  days  colder, 
Old  dreams  older, 

With  the  moving  seasons  grow. 

But  whatever 
Snows  may  shiver 


TO  A    MOTH 

Through  the  trees,  or  bleak  winds  blow. 
Still  forever 
Flows  the  river 
Underneath  the  ice  and  snow. 


TO  A   MOTH 

CRUSHED     WITHIN    THE    LEAVES    OF  AN 
ILIAD 

POOR  Creature!  nay,  I'll  not  say  poor, 
Why,  surely,  thou  art  wondrous  blest ; 
Right  royal  is  this  sepulcher 
Fate  gave  thee  for  thy  last  long  rest. 

See  here — 'tis  but  two  lines  above 
The  spot  that  marks  thy  early  tomb — 
Here  Paris  breathes  his  burning  love 
To  her  who  compassed  Ilia's  doom. 
iS 


TO  A   MOTH 

And  here,  upon  a  neighboring  page, 
The  great  Achilles  moans  his  friend, 
All  careless,  in  his  kingly  rage, 
Of  bane  or  curse  the  gods  may  send. 

Above,  below  thee,  everywhere, 
Fierce  Trojan  strives  with  wily  Greek ; 
And  mighty  lords,  with  tawny  hair, 
Deep  words  of  war  and  wisdom  speak. 

The  high  gods  gaze  upon  thee  here, 
Great  warriors  guard  thy  resting-place — 
Perchance  thou  see'st  a  burning  tear 
Steal  down  Briseis*  home-turned  face. 

Aye  !  rest  content,  for  thou  hast  won, 
A  tomb  that  kings  might  wish  in  vain, 
About  thee  shines  the  all-seeing  sun, 
And  roars  the  many-sounding  main. 


THE  BALLAD  OF  POET'S  LOVE 

BALLADE  A  DOUBLE  REFRAIN 

IF  it  were  not  for  you,  O  Vanessas, 

With  your  eyes  of  "  the  night "  or  "  the 

blue," 

With    your    "raven"    or    "sun-lighted" 
tresses, 

Pray  what  would  our  poetry  do  ? 
But  though  we  write  verses  to  you, 

And  vow  that  we  never  shall  part, 
Remember  that  all  his  life  through 

The  poet  must  love  for  his  art. 

Were  it  not  for  the  blush  that  confesses 
The  secret  the  heart  hardly  knew, 
20 


THE  BALLAD   OF  POET'S  LOVE 

And   the   thrill    of    the    poet    who 
guesses, 

Pray  what  would  our  poetiy  do  ? 
Forgive  us,  then,  if  we  but  woo 

For  a  time  and  to  others  depart. 
Light  Fancy  is  all  we  pursue ; 

The  poet  must  love  for  his  art. 

Were    it    not     for     those     clinging 

caresses, 

The  sweet  lips  that  falter  "Be  true," 
And  the  coy  little  "  Noes  "  that  are 

"  Yeses  "— 

Pray  what  would  our  poetry  do  ? 
In  clasping  or  dreaming  of  you 

Rich  fancies  most  glowingly  start, 
Inspiration  we  gather  anew — 

The  poet  must  love  for  his  art. 
21 


AN  OPHELIA    OF   TO-DAY 

L'ENVOI 

Sweet  maids,  did  we  yearn  not  for  you, 
Pray  what  would  our  poetry  do  ? 
Ah,  flash  of  the  passionate  heart ! 
The  poet  must  love  for  his  art. 


AN   OPHELIA  OF  TO-DAY 

"  And  from  her  fair  and  unpolluted  flesh  may  violets 

spring." 

—Hamlet,  IV. 

HIGH  up  the  silent  river's  grassy  bank, 
Beneath  a  lonely  oak  tree,  is  a  mound ; 
The    head    is    by   a   dying    rose-bush 

crowned, 
Across  whose  roots  there  lies  a  rotting 

plank 
That  long  ago  did  bear  a  woman's  name. 

22 


AN  OPHELIA    OF   TO-DAY 

The  breeze  that  sets  the  grass  in  rolling 

waves 
Breathes  forth  a  gentle  violet  scent  that 

saves 

The  dismal  place  from  all  unkindly  fame. 
She  is  at  rest.     She  might  not  sleep,  poor 

child, 
In  holy  ground ;  for  she  herself  gave 

back 
Her  gift  of  life  to  Him  from  whom  it 

came. 

But  Nature,  in  her  mood  of  mercy  mild 
Unwilling  that  all  love  her  child  should 

lack, 

Now  by  this  sweetest  pall  removes 
all  blame. 


23 


BY  PERCEE'S   RILL 

MANY  and  many  a  time,  Mary, 

For  many  and  many  a  year, 

The  sun's  come  up  all  bright  to  shine 

Upon  the  greenwood,  dear. 

And  many  and  many  a  day,  love, 

He's  dropt  behind  the  hill 

That  stands  above  Mackormel  lea 

Just  back  of  Percee's  rill. 

I've  heard  the  cocks  crow  far  away, 
The  red  cock  flap  his  wing, 
I've  seen  the  gray  dawn  set  afire, 

I've  heard  the  wood-birds  sing. 
24 


BY  PERCE&S  RILL 

A  summer's  day,  they  seem  to  say, 
The  sun  is  up  and  merry, 
The  cream  is  thick,  the  air  is  soft, 
Your  love  is  in  the  dairy. 

And  oft  betimes  at  harvesting 

He  melts  the  frosty  dew, 

He  wakes  the  partridge  and  the  thrush 

And,  sweet  one,  wakens  you. 

He  comes  when  ice  throws  back  to  him 

His  red,  raw,  burning  face 

And  down  the  valley  by  the  hill 

The  winter  night  winds  race. 

To-day  I  lie  by  Percee's  rill, 
I  hear  its  restful  flow, 
And  wonder  through  what  channels,  dear, 
Our  blessed  love  will  go. 
25 


BY  PERCEE'S  RILL 

For  mine  is  like  the  great  red  sun 
And  shines  and  shines  on  you 
With  all  the  fire  he  sends  at  dawn 
To  dry  the  morning  dew. 

I  think  no  wind  can  chill  my  love, 

No  storm  can  beat  it  down, 

No  early  frost  can  wither  it 

And  make  its  freshness  brown. 

But  we  are  young  in  life,  my  love, 

I  dream  by  Percee's  rill, 

And  that  flows  through  the  long  burnside 

And  far  beyond  the  hill. 

Oh,  lithesome  lass,  the  brooks  and  braes 

We've  wandered  by  together, 

The  long  green  hills,  the  summer  downs, 

The  waving  grass  and  heather  ! 
26 


BY  PERCEE'S  RILL 

My  happy  love  of  careless  days, 
How  many  pranks  we've  played, 
How  oft  in  snow-white  daisy-fields 
With  thoughtless  songs  we've  strayed ! 

I've  seen  you  climb  the  paddock  fence 

And  hiding  in  the  fern. 

We  guddled  for  the  spinney  trout 

In  deep  Kilkirtle's  burn. 

The  russet  apples,  rosy  cheeked, 

We've  feasted  on  together, 

And  berries  red  and  berries  blue 

We've  found  in  sunny  weather. 

So  prank  and  song  come  back  to-day, 
I  lie  by  Percee's  rill 
A-dreamin'  of  the  dear  lang  syne 
With  summer  on  the  hill. 
27 


BY  PERCEE'S  RILL 

'Twas  then  my  sun  first  rose  all  red, 
Langsyne  and  small  and  glowing, 
And  every  day  and  every  year 
I've  found  him  still  a-growing. 

Till  now  he's  in  the  mid-day  sky 
With  ne'er  a  thought  of  sinking, 
But  yonder  are  the  western  hills, 
And  so  I'm  sadly  thinking 
That  some  time  he  will  slip  away 
Across  an  evening  sky, 
Behind  the  hill  and  in  the  sea 
Will  lay  him  down  and  die. 

It  may  be  cantie,  cantie  years, 

It  may  be  days  of  sorrow, 

It  may  be  love  will  set  to-night 

And  never  bring  to-morrow. 
28 


MA  Y-DA  Y 

And  so  I  muse  by  Percee's  rill, 
The  long,  still  morning  hours ; 
The  sun  shines  down  a  golden  warmth 
On  honey  bees  and  flowers. 

MAY-DAY 

"  PRETTY  mistress  of  the  Maying, 

Maiden  fair  of  many  graces, 
While  I  watch  you  at  your  playing 
Tell  me  whether  maidens'  faces,- 
Dainty  pale  or  blushing  bright, 
Can  be  ever  read  aright  ? 

"  Master  Mournful,  I  have  seen  you, 

Seen  you  too,  sir,  softly  sighing," — 
Says  the  poet, — "  say  what  mean  you, 

(No  demurring,  no  denying)  • 
29 


SONG 

Can  it  be  Love's  cruel  dart 
Is  imbedded  in  your  heart  ?" 

Loving  is  an  easy  sorrow, 
Sunshine  always  comes  to-morrow: 
All  they  need  is  but  the  saying — 
(Saying,  far  the  sweetest  part)— 
She  the  mistress  of  the  Maying, 
He  the  master  of  her  heart. 


SONG 

As  a  dreamer  in  the  shade, 

When  the  day  is  dim, 
Heedeth  only  sylvan  glade, 

Time  is  naught  to  him  ; 
So  I  reck  nor  time  nor  grieving, 
Only  thee  and  love's  believing. 
3° 


HORACE  IN  NEW  HAVEN 

If  thine  arms  are  stretched  to  me 

When  the  violets  blow, 
When  through  buds  of  hawthorn-tree 

Sifted  blossoms  go ; 
So  I  reck  nor  time  nor  gain, 
But  thy  kisses  brought  again. 


HORACE  IN  NEW  HAVEN 
I 

INTEGER  VIT^E 

THE  man  that  promptly  settles  with  the 

bursar 
Needs  not  a  pull  to  win  his  way  thro* 

college, 

Nor  need  he  heed  $.  B.  K.'s  curse,  or 
Envy  her  knowledge. 


HORACE  IN  NEW  HAVEN 

Whether  th*  inhospitable  Welch  receive 

him 
Or  in  South  Middle  dark  his  path  and 

rough  be, 

Still  shall  the  dean,  with  gracious  smile, 
believe  him, 

Whate'er  his  bluff  be. 

For  as  I  wandered  to  my  room  last  Mon- 
day, 
Singing   his   praise   who   had   my   bill 

receipted, 

Fierce   Mr.  Hotchkiss,  who  had  cut  me 
Sunday, 

Pleasantly  greeted. 

Throw  me  in  White,  in  Farnam  (which  is 
worse),  or 

32 


HORACE  IN  NEW  HAVEN 

Far  in  the  halls  remote  of  Pierson  land 

me, 

The    sweetly    singing,    sweetly    smiling 
bursar 

Still  shall  command  me. 

II 

PERSICOS  GDI 

Boy,  I  detest  these  modern  innovations, 
The     Voice  crusade    may    alter    some 

men's  habit, 

But,  as  for  me,  I'll  stick  to  my  old  rations, 
Ale  and  a  rarebit. 

In  vino  vis.     The  pious  dames  of  Ipswich, 
Knowing  its  worth    and    fearing  lest 
men  waste  it, 
33 


HORACE  IN  NEW  HAVEN. 

Condemn   its   use   in   christening  battle- 
ships, which 

Can't  even  taste  it. 

Old  Cato  Major  (and,  no  doubt,  his  wife, 

too), 
Found  in  Falernian,  mixed  with  milder 

Massic, 

Courage  which  led  him  at  his  time  of  life, 
to 

Read  the  Greek  classic. 

Yes,  Cato   drank,  nor  should  we  lightly 

damn  a 

Man  who,  at  eighty  and  without  coer- 
cion, 

Mastered  Liddell  and  Scott,  and  Hadley's 
grammar, 

My  pet  aversion. 
34 


MOUNT  OSCEOLA 

Elihu's  ways,  they  say,  are  growing  sinful, 
Crimes  that  are  nameless  are  committed 

daily. 

Oscar!  my  toby,  and  I'll  sin  a  skinful, 
So  to  bed  gayly. 


MOUNT  OSCEOLA 

SOUTH   lie   the  lakes,  the    Past's   broad 

monotone, 

Save  where  an  islet  shows  a  hope  ful- 
filled. 

North  rise  the  mountain  solitudes,  alone 
Knowing  the    cloud-wrapped    Future, 
heaven-willed. 


35 


MATER  DOLOROSA 
His  Mother,  Our  Lady  of  Sorrows, 
Stood  alone  on  Calvary's  hill, 
Three  crosses  reeled  against  the  sky 
And  all  the  world  was  still. 

They  came  to  Our  Lady  of  Sorrows, 

Came  gently  to  lead  her  away, 

But  she  set  her  face  towards  that  cross  on 

high 
And  watched  through  the  fearful  day. 

Then  they  said,  "  Dear  Lady  of  Sorrows, 
Still  thine  anguish  and  raise  thine  head, 
For  a  Prince  has  come  to  His  Father's 

home ! " 

But  she  answered,  "  My  Son  is  dead." 
36 


SONG 

AFTER  the  singing  birds  are  gone 
And  the  leaves  are  parched  and  low, 

When  the  kind  old  earth  is  gaunt  and 

worn, 
Then  comes  the  snow. 

Hushed  are  the  world's  discordant  notes 

By  the  soft  hand  of  snow, 
And  the  beauty  of  its  silence  floats 

Across  me  ere  I  know. 

Oh  !  when  the  silver  cord  is  loosed 
And  the  golden  bowl  is  broken, 

And  the  spirit  poured  on  the  air  unused, 
As  one  hath  spoken, 
37 


THEY  FOUGHT  SO    WELL 

After  the  last  faint  throb  of  breath 
And  the  jar  of  life's  outflow, 

After  the  fever,  may  not  death 
Be  like  the  snow  ? 


THEY  FOUGHT  SO   WELL 

THEY   fought   so   well    to   fill   a   distant 

grave ! 
Lightly  they  ran  to  soothe  and  help  and 

save, 

For  there  was  heard  afar  a  feeble  moan. 
With   livid   flash    the    hellish   cannon 

shone, 

And  threw  a  saddened  light  on  what  they 
gave. 

It  was  not  for  themselves  that  they  were 
brave ; 

38 


THEY  FOUGHT  SO    WELL 

Naught  else  but  Right  eternal  they  would 

crave, 

And   leaped   with    ravishment   to   fall 
unknown, 

They  fought  so  well ! 

The  bitter  bondage  wrenched  and  left  the 

slave  ; 
Their  bones  the  secret  clefts  and  valleys 

pave. 

But   with   the    clinging    grasses   over- 
grown, 
A   lasting   spell  is  round   about   them 

thrown ; 

We   feel   the  stir  in  airs  that  o'er  them 
wave, 

They  fought  so  well. 


39 


D'ARTAGNAN'S   RIDE 

FIFTY  leagues,  fifty  leagues — and  I  ride, 

and  I  ride — 

Fifty  leagues  as  the  black  crow  flies. 
None  of  the  three  are  by  my  side   .   .   . 
The  black   horse   reels,   and    the    black 

horse  dies — 
But  I  ride,  and  I  ride 
To  Callice. 

We  were  four,  we  were  four — and  I  ride, 
and  I  ride — 

We  were  four,  but  Porthos  lies 

God     knows    where    by    the    highway- 
side  .   .   . 

40 


D'ARTAGNAN'S  RIDE 

The  roan  horse  reels,  and  the  roan  horse 

dies — 

But  I  ride,  and  I  ride 
To  Callice. 

We  were   three,   we  were  three — and   I 

ride,  and  I  ride — 
We  were  three  ;  but  Aramis  lies 
Fettered    and   bound    and   chained    and 

tied  .    .    . 
The  dun  horse  reels,  and  the  dun  horse 

dies — 

But  I  ride,  and  I  ride 
To  Callice. 

We  were  two,  we  were  two — and  I  ride, 

and  I  ride — 

We  were  two,  but  the  devil's  spies 
41 


D'ARTAGNAN'S  RIDE 

Tore  brave  Athos  from  my  side   .   .   . 
The  bay  horse  reels,  and  the  bay  horse 

dies — 

But  I  ride,  and  I  ride 
To  Callice. 

All  alone,  all  alone — and  I  ride,  and  I 
ride — 

All  alone,  and  an  ambush  lies 

God  knows  where  by  the  highway- 
side  .  .  . 

The  gray  horse  reels,  and  the  gray  horse 
dies — 

But  I  ride,  and  I  ride 

To  Callice. 


42 


SVEND  THE   BLACK 

SING  ye  the  saga  of  Svend  the  Black, 
Who  dwelt  in  the  fiord  where  the  white 

waves  foam. 
Fleeter   than    wolves   on    the    reindeer's 

track 
Was  the  keel  of  his  vessel  speeding  home. 

And  fiercer  than  wolves  were  his  fighting 

men, 
The  Dragon's    brood,  they  were    called 

afar, 

Ne'er  were  such  warriors  seen  till  then 
Under  the  light  of  the  pale  North  Star. 
43 


SVEND    THE  BLACK 

They  put  to  sea  one  wintry  day, 
When  the  winds  blew  shrill,  and  the  driv- 
ing sleet 

Followed  the  ship  as  she  sailed  away 
Down  to  where  fiord  and  ocean  meet. 

They  sailed  away  at  Yuletide  cheer ; 
They  would  come,  they  said,  ere  many  a 

day — 
When  winds  were  gentle  and  skies  were 

fair, 
The  Dragon  would  anchor  within  the  bay. 

But  years  rolled  by  and  Yuletides  passed, 

And  warriors  grew  into  sages  wise, 

Yet    never  a    glimpse   of    the   Dragons 

mast 

Came  to  gladden  the  watcher's  eyes. 
44 


SVEND    THE  BLACK 

But  mariners  tell  that  at  Yuletide  cheer, 
When  darkness  falls  on  the  raging  sea, 
Like  ghastly  echoes  they  seem  to  hear 
Faint,  far-off  sounds  of  revelry. 

And    wild    o'er   the    roar    of   the    night 

waves'  foam 
There  rings  the  skoal !  of  the  Dragon'; 

men, 
"Tis    Svend   and    his   warriors    speeding 

home 
To  the  haven  they  never  shall  see  again. 


45 


THE   CORPSE'S   CLOCK 

BLACK  sea  and  sandy  dune ; 

The  driven  storm-wrack  veils  the  moon. 

Hark  to  the  corpse's  clock — 

Tick,  tock  !     Tick,  tock ! 

White  face  and  eyes  that  stare  j 
Seaweed  twined  in  dripping  hair. 
Sounds  forth  the  corpse's  clock — 
Tick,  tock !    Tick,  tock ! 


AFTER   READING   "THE   MANLY 
HEART" 

SlNG  me  not  thy  madrigal, 
Love  hath  wedded  sorrow, 
Buds  that  shattered  are  to-day 
Cannot  bloom  to-morrow. 

Blossoms  that  delight  the  tree 
Are  but  poorly  cherished, 
If  they  fade  disconsolate 
And  lie  sadly  perished. 

Surely,  if  some  graces  be 
Very  far  above  her, 
'Tis  her  frailty  maketh  but 
Better  cause  to  love  her. 
47 


AFTER  READING  "  THE  MANLY  HEART 

When  I  see  the  day-morn  ride 
O'er  the  western  willow, 
Looking  through  the  morning  sky 
Down  upon  my  pillow, 

To  its  evening  glory  then 
All  my  heart  is  turning 
And  to  her  that  keepeth  still 
All  my  heart  a-burning. 

Sing  me  not  thy  madrigal, 
For  I  saw  in  sleeping, 
Love  had  tears  within  her  eyes, 
Love  that  was  a-weeping. 


PICTURES   IN   SEASON 

GRAY  sky,  gray  sea, 
A  white  sail  slipping  listlessly 

Over  the  quiet  heave 
Of  the  water  that  catches  the  light  on  the 

rise 
Ere  it  rolls  to  the  trough  and  in  dull  drab 

dies. 
— The  sail  is  lost  in  the  dreary  skies. 

Gray  fields,  gray  sky, 
A  white-plumed  bird  wings  slowly  by 

Seeking  the  banished  sun. 
Now  a  bird,  now  a  shape,  "now  a  dot  on 
the  gray ; 

49 


PICTURES  IN  SEASON 

It  is  gone,  there  is  only  the  fading  day 
Whose  death-song  moans  in  the  guant 
tree's  sway. 

Gray  eyes,  gray  gown, 
A  glance — the  lashes  sweeping  down 

Rest  on  a  white,  white  cheek. 
As  a  picture  that  trembles  through  up- 
welling  tears 
Is  effaced  in  the  sobbing,  so  disappears 

This  fancy,  too,  in  the  mist  of  years. 


DOWN  THE   ROAD 

WE  passed  in  silence  down  the  road 
To  where  a  narrow  footpath  led 
Aslant  the  pasture-land,  that  showed 
The  quivering  heat  of  July's  sun 
Against  the  hillsides  green  ahead. 

In  silence,  for  the  weeks  had  gone 
Unheeded  in  the  happiness 
That  comes  of  friendship's  treasures  won, 
Till  all  unmarked  the  time  had  come 
For  separation,  merciless. 

One  moment  by  the  path  we  stood, 
One  moment  lay  her  hand  in  mine, 
While  sweeping  o'er  me  like  a  flood 
5* 


DOWN   THE  ROAD 

The  weeks,  returning,  lived  again, 
And  thrilled  me  like  a  chord  divine. 

Unfound  the  words  we  strove  to  say ; 
A  brief  good-by,  a  quivering  look, 
Then  turned  we  to  our  onward  way, 
Which,  widening  evermore  since  then, 
Each  from  the  other  further  took. 

Yet  though  our  paths  still  further  bend 
Asunder,  not  as  unfulfilled 
The  promise  of  that  day's  sweet  pain, 
For  in  my  heart  its  angel-strain 
Still  lingers,  nor  is  ever  stilled. 


FROM  THE  CLASS  POEM  OF  1890 

THE  star  that  at  even 

Slips  out  of  the  hush 
Of  the  dim  western  heaven, 

Now  stripped  of  its  flush, 

Far  off  in  the  bleakness 

Stands  sternly  alone, 
And  looks  down  on  our  weakness, 

Our  laughter  and  moan. 

O  star  of  the  cheerless, 

That  all  through  the  night 

Shinest  on  with  that  fearless 
Imperious  light 
53 


FROM    THE   CLASS  POEM  OF  1890 

On  the  sad  and  the  lonely 
Who  know  thee  indeed, 

On  the  poor  who  know  only 
The  depth  of  their  need, 

Having  watched  an  existence 
Thou  wilt  shine  on  its  tomb, 

O  Silent  Persistence, 
My  spirit  illume ! 

By  the  porphyry  portals, 

Old  Israel  sings, 
The  star-clad  Immortals 

Stand  wrapped  in  their  wings. 

Around  them  the  beauty 

Of  heaven  is  shed, 
And  the  straight  path  of  duty 

By  nature  they  tread. 

54 


ARBUTUS 

But  thou,  in  thy  haunted 

Cold  desert  alone, 
Thy  courage  undaunted 

Thine  own  is — thine  own. 

The  courage  to  gaze  in 
The  face  of  the  night 

And  all  her  dark  maze  in 
Thy  face  to  keep  bright. 


ARBUTUS 

THOU  tiny  prophecy  in  pink  and  white, 
That,    ere    the    April    rains   are   fully 

dried, 
Creepest   between   the   dead  leaves  into 

sight, 

A  fairy  message  from  the  underside 
55 


ARBUTUS 

Of  this  decay,  to  tell  us  what  sweet  things 
Shall  in  their  season  blossom  and  grow 

fair, 
And  fling  their  morning  perfume  on  the 

wings 

Of  the  soft  winds  that  roam  the  summer 
air. 

I  would  that  thou  could'st  teach  me  how 

to  wake, 
Among  the  dead  leaves  of  my  passing 

days, 
Some  flower  of  thought  or  deed  for  whose 

sweet  sake 

I  might  seem  nobler  to  mine  inward 
gaze. 


OPHELIA 

SWEET  Isabella's  art  was  not  like  thine, 
Nor  Beatrice's  wit ;  the  dignity 
Of  Henry's  wifely  queen  was  not  in 

thee, 

Nor  in  thy  soul  did  Portia's  Avisdom  shine  ; 
Still  less  the  fire  of  humbled  Katherine ; 
Nor    might    thy    saddened    heart    the 

gayety 
Of  that  bright  spirit  feel,  who,  calm  and 

free, 

Made  Arden's  forests  glow  with  warmth 
divine. 

For  thee  the  suffering  love  of  Juliet ; 
Miranda's  modesty  ;  a  gentle  pride 

57 


THE  LAMENT 

Like  that  which  brav'd  harsh  Lear's 

imperious  throne ; 

A  generous  heart  like  Hero's,  to  forget 
All  wrongs ;  the  mildness  of  Othello's 

bride ; 

And  a  sweet  purity  that  was  all  thine 
own! 


THE   LAMENT 

I  SAW  thy  white  sail  sinking  in  the  sea, 
I  saw  the  white  gulls  gliding  down  the 

sky — 
And  waves  and   shores   reeled   o'er    me 

mistily, 
Come  back  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die  ! 

58 


THE  LAMENT 

The  gray  mist  rose  and  wrapped  about  me 
t  there, 

Upon  my  heart  its  chill  doth  ever  lie — 
The  shroud  of  joy,  my  grief  and  my  de- 
spair, 
Come  back  to  me.  Beloved,  or  I  die  ! 

God  giveth  us  the  night  to  weep  and  pray 
And  tears'  upon  my  pillow  ever  lie — 

For  darkness  covers  all  with  thee  away, 
Come  back  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die  ! 

My  bud  of  life  is  drooping  with  a  blight, 
For  thou  art  gone,  and  desolate  am  I — 

A   lost   bark   plunging    through    eternal 

night, 
Come  back  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die  ! 


59 


SONG 

LADY,  when  at  evening  hour 

In  thy  love-hued,  shadowy  bower 

Thou  dost  pray, 
But  a  moment  in  the  nest 
Of  thy  musing  let  me  rest, 

If  I  may. 

There  is  little  in  my  life 
That  is  noble — often  strife, 

But  victory  rare ; 

And  the  thought  would  help  me  lonely, 
I  would  cover  it  and  only 

Know  'twas  there. 


60 


A   REVERIE 

THOU  calm  and  sober  moon  aswing 

At  anchor  in  the  starry  deep, 

Pour  forth  that  palest  gift  of  thine 

On  gnarly  oak,  on  ash  and  pine, 

Who  rustle  oft  in  restless  sleep, 

When  soft  the  sighing  night-winds  creep. 

Bend  down  thy  glance  upon  the  wave 
In  streaming  veil,  where  dancing  ship 
May  sail  along  thy  genial  track, 
And  plow  thy  curling  whiteness  back  ; 
Where  dolphins  brawn  may  flash  and  dip, 

And  sea-birds,  sadly  crooning,  sit. 
61 


MOUNTAIN  FLOWER 

Where'er  thou  art,  on  land  or  sea, 
In  rambles  through  black  meadow-lands 
Or  regions  vast  and  cold  and  north, 
Where  broods  wan  silence  over  earth, 
Fling  cables  white,  from  whiter  hands, 
To  bind  me  with  their  silver  strands. 


MOUNTAIN    FLOWER 

THE  shredded  mists  fly  o'er  it  where  it 

peeps 
Through   weary  wastes    of   crumbling 

dull-gray  stone, 

And  chill  winds  beat  upon  it  as  it  keeps 
Its  silent  watch  alone. 

Red-limned  upon  bleak  granite  shows  its 
face, 

62 


MOUNTAIN  FLOWER 

Like  some  faint  sunset  spark  from  kind- 
lier skies, 

And  so  it  glimmers  on  a  little  space, 
Then,  uncomplaining,  dies. 

Sweet  smiling  in  the  sunny  vales  below, 
Bloom  dark  wild  roses,  yet  men  heed 

them  not, 
But  thou,  weak  flower  that  dost  not  fear 

the  snow, 
Art  not  so  soon  forgot. 


THERE'S  ONE  KEEPS  WATCH 

SHE  stood  without  the  City  wall, 
Her  soft  eyes  dim  with  weeping, 
And  tremblingly  an  entrance  sought, 
But  all  the  guards  were  sleeping. 
For  the  night  is  dark  and  the  hour  late 
And  none  keep  watch  at  the  wicket  gate. 

She  stood  without  the  City  wall. 
The  long  night  rains,  beginning, 
Swept  through  the  naked,  moaning 

trees, 

A  host  of  terrors  bringing. 
When  storms  are  wild  and  waters  deep 
Are  there  none  keep  watch  while  others 
sleep  ? 

64 


FALL 

She  stood  without  the  City  wall. 
Across  the  night  rain  falling, 
From  out  the  opened  wicket  gate 
There  came  a  sweet  Voice  calling. 
For  though  the  night  be  dark  and  late, 
There's  One  keeps  watch  at  the  wicket 
gate. 


FALL 

THERE  were  roses  in  her  hair 

Still  wet  with  dew, 

And  hovering  there — 
A  flash  of  blue  in  her  sun-kissed  curls — 

Was  a  little  bird. 

Even  as  I  looked  it  flew 

Swift  as  the  breeze  away, 
65 


FALL 

And  the  rose  leaves,  shriveled,  in  eddy- 
ing whirls 

Fell  in  her  way. 

Nor  speech,  nor  word 
She  murmured,  but  as  clouds  of  mist 

Fade  slowly  in  the  sun, 

So  she,  nor  wist 

That  mortal  looked  on  her,  as  I  had  done. 
And  ere  it  vanished,  vision  chaste  and  fair, 
The  first  light  snowflake  floated   in   the 
air. 


66 


TWILIGHT  VOICES 

H&rvia,  Tr6rvia  vtij- 
virvb  ddretpa.  T&V 

ffli. 


—  EURIPIDES. 
HASTEN,  O  Night!  ye  queenly  transcend- 

ent, 
Bearing  sweet  rest  from  the  region  of 

shade, 
Mounted  on  wings  though  dark  yet   re- 

splendent 
That  woo  to  forgetfulness  hillside  and 

glade  ! 
Cease  thy  dark  flight  —  a  worn  heart  con- 

fesses 
The  peace   that   it   knows   in  thy  silken 

caresses. 

67 


TWILIGHT   VOICES 

Damp  are  thy  garments  and  damp  thy 

black  tresses, 

But  bright  is  thy  crown  with  starlight 
inlaid. 

Soft   be   the   breezes   that   play   on   the 

meadows, 
Tender  the  light  of  the  stars  in  the  sky  ; 

Laid   be  the  spirits   whose    shrouds    are 

the  shadows 

That  darken  the  heart  and  that  deaden 
the  eye. 

Let  me  forget  while  the  moments  are  fly- 
ing 

The  discords  of  life  that,  in  bitterness  cry- 
ing, 

Tell  us  of  loveliness  suffering,  dying, 

Tell  us  no  tale  but  ends  in  a  sigh. 
68 


TWILIGHT    VOICES 

Far  in  the  distance  I  hear  the  waves  roll- 
ing 

On  with  the  sound  of  the  trampling  sea ; 
Aloft  from  yon  tower  the  death  bells  are 

tolling 

Stern  admonitions  to  thee  and  to  me. 
Rest  there  is  none  for  the  feet  that  grow 

weary 
In  scaling   the   heights,   and   all   nature, 

though  cheery, 

Yet  chants  to  herself  a  low  miserere, — 
Maybe  a  dirge  for  the  souls  that  go  free. 

Sleep  !  let  me  rest  till  the  gates  that  are 

golden 

Turn  on  the  hinge  of  melodious  sound  ; 
Let  my  lone  couch  be  the  forest  whose 

olden 

69 


TWILIGHT   VOICES 

Trunks    and    gnarled    arms   keep   the 

shadows  around. 
We,  like  the  oaks  beneath  deep  mosses 

sleeping, 
No    care    shall    disturb    of    busy  winds 

creeping 
O'er  my  low  couch,  nor  where  they  are 

heaping 
It  high  with  the  leaves  that  whirl  o'er 

the  ground. 


70 


FROM  THE  CLASS  POEM  OF  1889 

As  one  who  lies  beneath  an  idle  sail 
Within    the    shelter    of    some   hollow 

shore, 
And  hears  without  the  ocean's  sullen 

roar, 
Where   billows  toss  their  white  caps  in 

the  gale ; 

Who  ponders  on  some  mediaeval  tale, 
Or  musing  cons  an  ancient  poem  o'er, 
While,  drifting  on  the   tides  that  out- 
ward pour, 

He  nears  the  main  where  tempest  shocks 
prevail ; 


CHOICE 

So  we :  but  ere  we  cut  the  line  of  foam 
While  rhymes  of  yesterday  still  fill  the 

soul 

With  tenderness  and  memories  of  home, 
I  feel  the  influences  that  control 
Our  lives — the  shocks  of  conflict  that 

enroll 

Us  in  the  lists  from  which  we  may  not 
roam. 

CHOICE 

LET  yours  be  a  day  in  the  merry  May 
When  the  world  is  new  and  flowers  are  gay, 
'Neath  sunny  skies  expend  your  sighs, 
On  languishing  maids  with  tender  eyes, 

But  give  me  a  day  when  the  sea  is  gray 

And  the  air  is  filled  with  the  dashing  spray, 

72 


EPITAPH  IN  FORM  OF  A   BALLADE 

Where  black  rocks  rise  and  the  sand-bird 

cries 
I'd  walk  with  her  who  has  fearless  eyes. 


THE   EPITAPH   IN   FORM   OF   A 
BALLADE 

WHICH  MASTER  FRANgOIS  VILLON  MADE 
FOR  HIMSELF  AND  FIVE  OF  HIS  COM- 
PANIONS, EXPECTING  TO  BE  HANGED 
ALONG  WITH  THEM 

NOR  hate  nor  scorn  shall  be  our  meed 

to-day, 

Stretched  black  against  the  faint  gray- 
golden  sky, 

Heedless  of  all  ungenerous  ye  may  say, 
Helpless   we   hang,   helpless   to   make 
reply. 

73 


EPITAPH  IN  FORM  OF  A   BALLADE 

Rather  in  love  and  sorrow  shall  ye  cry 
To  Him  that  hung  for  all  men  on  the 

tree, 
And  crave,  ere  that  ye  also  come  to 

die, 

God,  in  His  grace,  forgive  both  us  and 
thee. 

Not   all   may   tread    the    road   of   right 

alway, 
Not  all  the  primrose  path  of  pleasure 

fly; 
The  greater  need  then,  brother  man,  to 

pray— 

The  greater  wrong  compassion  to  deny. 
Our  joys  are  spent ;  equal  we  all  hang 

high  ; 

All  undeserving  raise  we  now  our  plea, 
74 


EPITAPH  IN  FORM  OF  A   BALLADE 

Whose    dolorous    death    doth    justice 

justify,— 

God,  in  His  grace,  forgive  both   us  and 
thee! 

And  now  the  wind  shall  have  us   for  his 

play, 
The  driving  rain  shall  blanch,  the  sun 

shall  dry, 
The   while  in  swinging   chains  aloft  we 

sway, 

Grim  warning  to  the  lowly  passerby  ; — 

But  ye,  that  life  and  laughter  glorify — 

Ye,  that  to-day  hold  love  and  lands  in  fee — 

Ye,   that   in  pride,   sorrow   and   death 

defy— 

God,  in  His  grace,  forgive  both  us  and 
thee  ! 

75 


THE  SOUL'S  RECALL 

L'ENVOI 
Prince  Christ,  in  this  brief  hour  of  death 

be  nigh ! 
Thou  that  did'st  live  and  die  for  such 

as  we — 

And  ye,  that  Him  again  dost  crucify, 
God,  in  His  grace,  forgive  both  us  and 
thee! 

THE  SOUL'S  RECALL 

SOUL  !  you  have  been  far  away 
Lotos-land  and  drowsy  dreaming — 

Never  night  nor  dawn  of  day, 
But  shadowy  twilight-seeming. 

Time  to  measure  flowers  that  fell, 

Rain  to  kiss  in  silent  falling 

76 


THE   SOUL'S  RECALL 

Flowery  fields  of  asphodel, 
Poppy-buds  enthralling. 

The  soul  that  feels  the  lotos-kiss 
Knoweth  not  to-morrow — 

Nor  ever  glint  of  golden  bliss 
Nor  crimson  stain  of  sorrow. 

Only  gray  of  peace,  unending 
Slumber-peace — but  far  away 

Where   your   shadowy   stream    goes 

bending — 
Soul !  it  is  the  dawn  of  day ! 


77 


THE  SCHOLAR 
HE  sits,  a  scholar,  in  his  garret  room 
And  listens  to  the  tread  of  centuries, 
He  reads  a  thousand  books  with  sober 

eyes, 
And  grapples  with  the  stone  before  the 

tomb ; 

Night-music  lingers  in  the  evening  gloom, 
Night-laughter    rises    to    the   burning 

skies, 

For  him  another  song,  "  Arise  !  Arise !  " 
Life  may  be  weariness  and  death  be  doom. 

Men  may  not  scoff,  the  fierce  fires  of  the 
world 

Burn  hotly  with  a  searing  mystery ; 
78 


THE  FOOL  IN  LEAR 

What  though  he  know  not  and  his  soul 

be  hurled 
Down  the  dark  cavern  where  he  cannot 

see — 

He  writes  To-morrow  with  a  flaming  hand, 
And  waits  for  God  to  let  him  understand. 


THE   FOOL   IN   LEAR 

I  SEE  brown  leaves  a-blowing. 
Sing  all !  Sing  all !  this  merry  lay. 
I  see  black  cloud-streams  flowing, 
And  these,  alack !  must  end  the  play, 
For  one  shall  sleep  at  the  dawn  of  day, 
And  one  shall  sleep  at  the  eve, 
But  I  shall  sleep  at  the  burning  noon. 
We  three — sweet  sleep  receive ! 
79 


SCHUBERT 

It's  sleep  that  knows  no  waking, 
One  long  gloom-nap  we're  taking, 
And  a  poor  Fool's  heart  is  breaking : 
Sweet  sleep  receive ! 


SCHUBERT 

His  life  was  short — some  thirty  years  or 
so 

Were  all  his  span.  But,  oh,  what  change- 
ful years, 

What  variance  from  merriment  to  tears 

This  cheerful,  struggling  man  must 
undergo ! 

'Twere  pity  that  his  worth  men  would 
not  know  ; 

'Tis  hard ;  yet  left  alone,  he  works,  and 

rears 

80 


SCHUBERT 

Himself  a   name   not   soon   forgot ;    his 

fears 
Of  failure  spur  him  on  ;  'tis  better  so. 

i 

My  sweetheart  sang  for  me  the  "  Sere- 
nade "— 

"  Das  Standchen,"  that  impassioned  song 
of  love, 

And  ever,  as  she  softly  sang  and  played, 

There  seemed  to  come  upon  me  from 
above — 

From  her  pure  soul — but  just  this  simple 
thought : 

"  Franz  Schubert's  dead — dead  of  a 
broken  heart." 


81 


GOD'S  WILL 

I  KNOW,  I  know  where  violets  blow 

Upon  a  sweet  hillside, 
And  very  bashfully  they  grow 

And  in  the  grasses  hide — 
It  is  the  fairest  field,  I  trow, 

In  the  whole  world  wide. 

One  spring  I  saw  two  lassies  go, 
Brown  cheek  and  laughing  eye, 

They  swung  their  aprons  to  and  fro, 
They  filled  them  very  high 

With  violets — then  whispered  low 

So  strange,  I  wondered  why. 
82 


EXHORTATION 

I  know  where  violet  tendrils  creep 
And  crumbled  tombstones  lie, 

The  green  churchyard  is  silence-deep  ; 
The  village  folk  go  by, 

And  lassies  laugh  and  women  weep, 
And  God  knows  why. 


EXHORTATION 

SHE  stands  amid  the  daisies 
Shining  white  beneath  the  sun, 
Blowing,  rippling,  wanton  as  her  hair, 
And  the  glancing  of  her  eyes 
Laughs  in  sunshine  as  it  flies. 
Whisper,  winds !     My  love  is  fair. 

By  chance,  she  comes  at  morning 
Where  the  maples  shade  a  path, 

83 


EXHORTATION 

Birds    are     piping,    scolding,    "  Have    a 

care  !  " 

Though  in  stateliness  disdaining 
Lo!  a  primrose — is  she  feigning? 
Foolish  birds  !     My  love  is  fair. 

The  breakers  toss  the  moonlight 
Far  adown  the  gleaming  sands  ; 
Steely  clouds  are  scudding  over,  where 
In  two  fearless  love-lit  eyes 
Swims  a  look  that  speech  defies. 
Shout  it,  sea!     My  love  is  fair. 


84 


DOROTHY 

IN  happy  times  and  merry  whiles 
This  song  might  garland  o'er  with  smiles 
The  newborn  love  that  cradled  lies 
Within  thine  eyes : 

When  far-off  wedding  bells  achime 
Are  touched  ivitk  magic  wand, 

Arid  life  is  at  the  crescent  time, 
And  all  is  fairy  land, 

Then  Song  and  Echo  in  my  rhyme 
Go  straying  hand  in  hand. 

But  if  thy  heart  is  turned  from  me, 
Then  empty  is  my  heart  for  thee, 
And  this  sad  lay  is  wandering  through : 
35 


IL  BEL   CANTO 

When  lilting  love-songs  lose  their  grace, 

A  nd  jealousies  arise, 
And  steals  a  mist  across  the  face, 

Where  love  a-gazing  lies, 
O  then  are  sobs  in  Echo's  voice 

And  tears  within  her  eyes. 


IL   BEL   CANTO 

THE  nightingale  still  sings  in  far  Cathay, 
Still  fairies  dance  around  Titania  fair, 

But  lost,  aye  lost  like  dreams  of  yesterday, 
That  song  has  vanished,  bodiless  as  air. 

For  who  can    chain  the  singing  of  the 

spheres  ? 

Or  tell   to  men  what  song  the  sirens 
sung? 

86 


ARAB  LOVE   SONG 


Or  summon  o'er  the  waste  of  weary  years 
The   trembling   strains   from  Orpheus' 
lyre  wrung  ? 


ARAB   LOVE   SONG 

AWAKE  !  awake  !  the  dawn  is  near, 

The  stars  have  dimmed  from  out  the  sky, 

From  mountain  clefts  the  winds  have  slid, 

The  moon  hath  drawn  a  silken  lid 

Across  the  brightness  of  her  eye, 

And  I  await  thee.     Oh,  arise  ! 

And   shake    the   dream-dew   from    thine 

eyes, 

And  smile  as  dreams  do.     I  have  crossed 
Hot  sands  and  felt  the  mountain  frost 
Since  morning,  all  to  see  thy  face, 
To  feel  thy  breath  upon  my  hair, 


DARK  CLOUDS 

To  kneel  down  at  thy  feet  and  there 
Forget  all  life  and  time  and  place. 
Sweet,  Allah  made  the  morning  hour 
For  thee  and  me.     Thy  ring-doves  bill 
And  nestle  at  thy  window-sill, 
Cooing.     Come  forth,  O  desert  flower, 
And  breathe  upon  my  tired  eyes, 
Sweeter  than  flowers  of  Paradise 
In  Eden's  bloom.     Arise  !  arise  ! 


DARK   CLOUDS 

DARK  clouds  of  rain  and  mist 
Are  hanging  in  the  skies  ; 

A  flower  the  sun  had  softly  kissed, 
In  drooping  sadness  dies. 

A  breeze  is  rising  mild, 

The  clouded  heaven  clears  ; 
88 


DARK  CLOUDS 

And  nature,  like  a  little  child, 
Is  smiling  through  her  tears. 

I  would  that  I  might  wake 

From  a  strange  dream  of  pain ! 

But  memory's  clouds  will  never  break 
And  give  me  peace  again. 

Her  soul  was  like  a  flower, 

Blossoming  in  her  eyes. 
Death  chose  a  dark,  unguarded  hour 

To  seize  that  lovely  prize. 

I  live  in  speechless  sorrow, 

To  memory  a  slave, 
Asleep,  awake,  to-day,  to-morrow, 

My  heart  is  in  her  grave. 


89 


THE  AURORA 

IN  the  frozen  North,  where  half  the  year 
Is  ruled  by  continuous  night, 
There  gleams  a  splendor  beyond  all  ken  ; 
Now  too  keen  for  the  eyes  of  men, 
And  now  a  nebulous  light. 

Frozen  and  fettered  the  streamers  rise, 
In  an  ordered  and  ominous  row. 
The  moon  in  winter  is  not  more  chill, 
Nor  steel  more  hard,  nor  death  more  still, 
Than  the  Monarch  who  holds  them  so. 

But  see !  they  leap  in  fierce  revolt, 

And  struggle,  and  rage,  and  strain  ; 
90 


THE  AURORA 

The     luminous     streamers     writhe    and 

bound, 

And  wound  the  air  with  a  voiceless  sound 
As  they  tug  at  their  icy  chain. 

But  vain  is  the  effort,  and  soon  they  rise 

In  a  ghastly,  radiant  ring. 

Their  bonds  are  firm,  and  they  may  not 

forth, 
For  the  souls  of  men  who  have  died   in 

the  North 
Are  thrall  to  the  Frozen  King ! 


CASSANDRA 

MlDST    mellow    flutes    and    glad-voiced 
choristers 

Silent  she  stands. 

They  heed  not  prayer  nor  prophecy  of 
hers, 

Nor  clasped  imploring  hands. 

Ah,  none  may  hear,  the  God  hath  sealed 
their  ears. 

Poor  prophetess! 
They  mock  the  futile  misery  of  thy  fears, 

Scoff  at  thy  sharp  distress. 

Oh,  white,  beseeching  arms,  and  marvel- 
ous, 

92 


BALLADE  OF  PEACEFUL  DEFEAT 

Reproachful  eyes ! 

The  story  of  your  wrongs  gleams  infamous 
Through  the  dim  centuries. 


BALLADE  OF  PEACEFUL 
DEFEAT 

"  I  am  so  old — good-night,  Babette " 

— Austin  Dob  son. 

OUR  day  dawned  bright;  the   primrose 
way 

Before  us  lay  invitingly, 
And  life  seemed  one  long  summer  day, — 

Beyond  the  day  we  could  not  see. 

I  would  that  I  could  set  thee  free 
In  sunny  long  ago, — and  yet 

The  path  has  lost  its  charm  for  me, 
I  am  so  old — good-night,  Babette. 
93 


BALLADE   OF  PEACEFUL  DEFEAT 

The  primrose  faded  into  gray ; 

We  lived  our  love   and   naught  cared 

we, 
Nor  thought  to  bid  the  moment  stay, 

So  sure  its  fellow  seemed  to  be. 

Life  is  no  more  an  ecstacy, 
For  love  is  lost  in  vain  regret ; 

Age  grants  us  but  tranquillity  ; 
I  am  so  old — good-night,  Babette. 

The  sunny  summer  sped  away 

And  autumn's  crimson  brilliancy  ; 
December  follows  hard  on  May, 

And  rest  replaces  revelry. 

The  fog  drifts  shoreward  from  the  sea, 
Kissing  the  waving  dune-grass  wet, 

And  Father  Time  demands  his  fee, 
I  am  so  old — good-night,  Babette. 
94 


AFTERWHILE 

L'ENVOI 

Dear,  once  for  us  the  skies  were  gay, 
And  now,  when  wintry  clouds  are  met, 

Old  age  its  willing  debt  must  pay. 
I  am  so  old — good-night,  Babette. 


AFTERWHILE 

THERE  was  one  I  knew — 'tis  the  mist  of 

a  dream, 
When  the  sunlight  fell  with  a  checkered 

gleam 
O'er   the    gray   and    the    brown    of    the 

lichened  wall 

And  the  haloed  summer  over  all 
Lay  droning  drearily. 
95 


AFTERWHILE 

The  wood  thrush  chirred  to  his  mate  on 
the  hill, 

While  beyond  in  the  browning  hay  fields 
still 

The  toilers  labored  wearily. 

But  that  was  a  day  and  a  year  ago, 

And  where  love  is  dead,  time  moves  but- 
slow. 

Aye,  that  was  a  day  and  a  year  ago ! 
When  the  bluebird  trilled  in  the  garden 

bloom 
And  the  song  in  my  heart  was  the  lilt  of 

June. 
Ah,  where  love  is  dead,  time  moves  but 

slow 
And  the  task  of  the  toiler  is  heavy  with 

woe. 

96 


AFTERWHILE 

Yet   the    memory   of   one   that   I   knew 

remains, 
Like  blossoms  crushed  by  the   summer 

rains, 
Seen  afar  through  a  haze  of  tears. 

Aye,  that  was  a  day  and  a  year  ago ! 
The  thrush  yet  sings  to  his  mate  on  the 

hill, 

But  the  echo  of  love  in  my  heart  is  still. 
Ah,  where  love  is  dead,  time  moves  but 

slow 
And  the  task  of  the  toiler  is  heavy  with 

woe. 

For  the  wind  weeps  low  under  the  eaves, 
And  tosses  and  worries  the  broken  leaves, 
While  it  sports  with  my  love  that  is  dead. 


97 


A  LOST  MEMORY 

LISTENING  in  the  twilight,  very  long  ago, 
To  a  sweet  voice  singing  very  soft  and 
low. 

Was  the  song  a  ballad  of  a  lady  fair 
Saved     from    deadly    peril    by    a    bold 
corsair? 

Or  a  song  of  battle,  and  a  flying  foe? 
Nay,  I  have  forgotten — 'tis  so  long  ago. 

Scarcely    half    remembered,   more    than 

half  forgot, 
I  can  only  tell  you  what  the  song  was 

not. 

98 


A   LOST  MEMORY 

Memory   unfaithful   has    not   kept    that 

strain, 
Heard  once  in  the  twilight — never  heard 

again. 

Every  day  brings  twilight,  but  no  twilight 

brings 
To  my  ear  that  music  on  its  quiet  wings. 

After    autumn    sunsets,   in   the   dreamy 

light, 
When  long  summer  evenings  deepen  into 

night, 

All  that  I  am  sure  of,  is  that,  long  ago, 
Someone    sang    at  twilight,   very   sweet 
and  low. 


99 


LOVE'S  BLINDNESS 

So  it  goes  that  love  is  blind, 
And  they  say  he  cannot  see  ; 
Search  the  traverse  of  the  wind, 
Where  an  elf  as  sharp  as  he  ? 

In  the  mesh  of  fairy  hair 
There's  a  beauty  that's  as  rare 
As  the  splendor  of  the  sun, 
In  the  noonday  of  his  run. 
In  the  langour  of  her  eye 
There's  a  depth  of  heaven-blue, 
Like  the  zenith  of  the  sky 

When  the  moon  goes  gliding  through. 
100 


LOVE'S  BLINDNESS 

In  the  beauty  of  her  hair 
Dwells  the  eye  of  gallant  love, 
While  his  fellow  elves  are  sleeping,    ,.   f 
Not  an  elfin  of  them  peeping ; 
In  the  brilliance  of  her  glance, 
He  will  lead  her  in  the  dance, 
While  his  fellow  elves  are  sleeping, 
Every  elf  the  stillness  keeping. 

Then  when  stirs  nor  wind  nor  willow — 
Ere  the  sky  betrays  the  dawn — 
Love  will  rest  her  on  her  pillow, 
With  a  kiss — and  then  he's  gone. 
Then  the  laggard  elves,  a-trooping 
From  their  bowers  of  flowrets  twined, 
Mark  the  eyes  of  love  a-drooping, 
And  they  jeer  him  that  he's  blind. 


101 


DUSK  AND  DAWN 

Sp#T    twilight   shades,    scarce   darkness, 

scarcely  day, 

Faint  strains  of  music  fading  on  the  breeze, 
Ring-doves   a-cooing   where   the  willows 

play 

Lethean  lullabys  among  the  trees, 
And   in   the   gathering   gloom   my  lady 

dreams. 

Light  clouds  afloat  upon  a  field  of  blue, 
A  soaring  lark's  full-throated  melody, 
A  flower,  new-opened,  with  the  clinging 

dew 

On  each  frail  petal  quivering  timorously, 
And  sunbeams  dancing,  as  my  lady  wakes. 

102 


FROM  THE  CLASS  POEM  OF  1896 

DEEP  in  the  meadow  grass 

A  rose  was  born, 

The    cherished    nursling    of    a    summer 

morn ; 

Nor  romping  lad  or  lass, 
Nor  priest  nor  swain, 
Who  chanced  along  the  winding  meadow 

lane 

Espied  its  pale  pure  bloom,  or  ever  knew 
How  its  fair  petals,  kissed  by  sun  and 

dew, 

Had  opened  rathe,  and  at  the  bending  blue 
O'erhead  had  smiled 

E'en  as  a  sleeping  child, 
103 


FROM   THE   CLASS  POEM  OF  1896 

Touched  by  soft  mother-lips  at  dawn 
Smiles  as  it  wakens,  happy  to  be  drawn 
Out  of  the  land  where  sweet  dream-fan- 
cies be 
Into  a  far  more  sweet  reality. 

In  lowly  beauty  day  by  day 

The  wee  rose  bloomed,  then  drooped  and 

passed  away ; 

Yet  was  its  gentle  life  not  lost  on  earth, 
Though  all  unmarked  its  dying  and  its 

birth,—- 

For  once  a  wild  bird,  clinging  to  its  spray, 
Was  gladdened  by  the  flower, 
And  all  one  joyous  hour 
Outpoured  its  little  heart  unto  the  skies 
In  ecstasy  of  song ; 

And  far  away, 

104 


OUT  OF   THE  NIGHT 

Plodding  the  dusty  road  along, 

With  doubting,  downcast  eyes, 

Was  one  who  heard 

The  rapturous  carol  of  the  bird, 

And   drank    its   meaning   deep   into   his 

heart, 
And  wist  not  that  a  rose  had  played  its 

part. 


OUT   OF  THE   NIGHT 

IF  in  the  night  there  comes  a  bird 
That  on  your  window  beats  its  wings, 

As  once  the  Raven's  wings  were  heard, 
You  question  not  what  song  it  sings 

Before  the  shutters  open  free. 
Perhaps  a  raven,  dark  of  race ; 

Enough  it  wanders  homelessly 

And  seeks  the  comfort  of  your  face. 
105 


MARCH 

And  will  you  ask  from  whence  I  come 

Who  now  have  drifted  to  your  feet, 
From  what  dark  place  or  pleasant  home, 

And    by    what    ways    have    traveled, 

sweet  ? 
Perhaps  I've  buried  in  the  earth 

Some  secret  sins  and  hidden  fears, 
For,  after  all,  a  heart  is  worth 

Only  the  tenderness  it  bears. 


MARCH 

SUMMER,  banished  far  away, 
Sat  alone  and  wept  one  day, 

Gone  the  glow  upon  her  cheek, 
Rent  her  garments,  tresses  torn, 
Disappointed  and  forlorn, 

Sobbed  she  there  and  did  not  speak. 
1 06 


VESPER  SONG 

But  warm-hearted  Auster,  stirred 
By  the  sobbing  that  he  heard, 
Roused    the    winds ;     with     might    and 
main 

Battled  they  by  day  and  night ; 

Boreas  was  put  to  flight, 
Summer  came  to  earth  again. 

VESPER   SONG 

THE  sun  is  dead  in  the  hills 

And  the  moon  is  born  of  the  sea, 

The  flushed  east  glows  a  paling  rose 

And  the  dark  falls  over  me — 

Song  of  the  wailing  twilight  breeze, 

Carry  me  where  you  go 

Out  through  the  swaying  poplar  trees 

All  in  a  silver  row, 
107 


VESPER   SONG 

Sing  me  a  gentle  slumber  song 
In  cadence  low. 

The  moon  is  dead  in  the  sky 

And  the  sun  is  born  of  the  sea, 

All  night  long  I  have  dreamed  the  song 

That  the  night  wind  brought  to  me — 

Sun  of  a  thousand  gleaming  eyes 

Sparkling  above  the  wave, 

Burning  the  racing  moon  that  tries 

Hide  in  her  western  grave, 

Burn  in  my  heart  the  vesper  song 

You  grudging  gave. 


108 


MARGARET 

WHEN  she  came  to  us,  all  this  earth 
Seemed  steeped  in  Springtime  bliss, 
May  donned  a  garb  of  flowers  and  mirth, 
And  April  left  a  sunny  kiss 

To  greet  her  when  she  came. 

The    flowers    seemed    fairer    where   she 

walked, 

And  when  the  song  birds  heard 
Her  rippling  laughter,  light  as  air, 
They  sang   sweet  songs,  that  ne'er  had 

stirred 

Our  hearts  until  she  came. 
109 


A    VESTAL 

Her  speech  was  music,  and  her  heart 
Was  pure  as  morning  dew ; 
Her  very  footfall  on  the  stair 
Made  melody.     We  never  knew 

Such  peace  until  she  came. 


A    VESTAL 

SHE  muses  while  the  sunbeams  creep 

In  slanting  piers  of  light, 
She  muses  when  the  shadows  creep 

About  the  fire  at  night. 

Troops  of  to-morrows  cross  her  thought 

In  happy  Junes  and  Mays, 
And  ghosts  of  dim  Septembers  fraught 

With  kindly  yesterdays. 
no 


QUEST  US  A  MORIS 

Hers  is  the  Vestal's  waiting  air, 
The  silence  sweet  and  weird, 

More  wisdom  nestles  in  her  hair 
Than  crouched  in  Nestor's  beard. 

And  all  her  terms  of  nights  and  days 
The  world's  first  dreamings  fill, 

She  moves  among  forgotten  ways, 
Unvisited  and  still. 


QUESTUS  AMORIS 

'TWERE  better  in  some  soulless  solitude 
To  wake  the  taunting  echoes'  mirthless 

jeer, 
Than    that    my   song    should    be   again 

renewed 

To  one  who  will  not  hear. 
in 


QUEST  US  A  MORIS 

'Twere  better,  kneeling  there,  to  let  the 

skies 
With  their  vast  light  take  the  last  beam 

from  me 
Than  let  Love  look  its  yearnings  thro*  my 

eyes 

To  one  who  will  not  see. 

'Twere  better  that  the  tears  of  voiceless 

pain 
Should  in  the  cooling  snow  their  warmth 

conceal. 
Nor  more  nor  less  than  mist  of  summer 

rain 

To  one  who  will  not  feel. 

'Twere  better  that  the  heart  had  never 
learned 

To  raze  all  else  and  place  her  throne  above. 
112 


WITH  PASSING    YEARS 

Heart,  life,  and  soul — an  offering  vainly 
burned 

To  one  who  will  not  love. 


WITH   PASSING  YEARS 

I 

I  LOVED  thee  as  a  child,  and  chased 
Thy   oft-delaying   flight,  with   breathless 

glee, 
Through  laurels  and  down  lilac  lanes  from 

which 
I  shook  the  dew  as  I  pursued  and  thou 

did'st  flee. 

It  was  thy  gold,  O  butterfly, 
That  caught  the  childish  fancy  of  my  eye, 
But  when  within  my  hands  thy  powdered 

gold  fell  off, 


WITH  PASSING    YEARS 

I  cast  thee  by  to  weep, 
And  then  again  in  dreams  I'd  chase  thee 
in  my  sleep. 

II 

I  love  thee  still  and  in  a  passive  way 
I  sit  and  watch  thy  full  content  to  sip 
The  brightly  sparkling  nectars   that   the 

shades 
Of  night  have  brewed  upon  the  languid 

lily's  lip. 

I  see  thy  dalliance,  butterfly, 
That  makes  the  rose  to  blush  a  deeper  dye  ; 
I  watch   thee  chase   thy  shadow  in   the 

tulips'  bed 

In  quiet  summer  hours  ; 
I  laugh,  and  thou   art  lost  among  some 

sweeter  flowers. 
114 


THE  WAITING  YEAR 

TWICE  lingers  on  her  way  the    fleeting 

year : 
In  April    first — the    darksome    winter 

past — 
She  smiles  through   happy  tears  that 

follow  fast, 
And  prescient  of  the  Maytime  loitering 

near, 
She  waits  in  listening  mood,  perchance  to 

hear 

Some  faint  heraldic  note  of  wandering 
bird, 

"5 


THE    WAITING    YEAR 

Some  whispered  hint,  some  confidential 

word, 

Of  pregnance,  in  bare  boughs  and  mead- 
ows sere. 

Anon  she  lingers  in  the  arms  of  Death, 
Shorn  of  her  glory,  yet  withal  content 
To   feel   upon     her    cheek    his    chilling 

breath ; 
Her  birds  and  blossoms    gone,  she  too 

must  go. 
'Neath  gray  November  skies,  with  head 

low-bent, 
She  waits  the  benediction  of  the  snow. 


116 


SONG 

CRADLE'S  quiet, 

Sing  low, 

The  stars  have  a  dreamy  glow, 
From  under  their  shadowy  veil  they  peep  ; 
Blue  eyes,  they  are  laughing  at  you  asleep. 

Sing  low. 

Peace  of  the  night, 

Come  down, 

The  breeze  is  cool  in  the  town, 
The  fire-flies  light  in  the  murksome  shade 
The  dream-towers  that  the  fairies  made. 
Come  down. 
117 


THE  BELL 

Cradle's  quiet, 

Still—still, 

A  light  glows  over  the  hill, 
And  the  leaves  that  danced  since  the  rest- 
ful noon 

Are  asleep,  are  asleep  in  the  shine  of  the 
moon. 

Still— still. 

THE  BELL 

IN   my  ear  there   sorrows    a    mournful 

bell- 
Hush,  'tis  the  throstle's  art ! 

The  skies  are  blue,  and  the  breezes  swell — 
But  the  shadows  start, 

And  slow  as  the  pulse  of  a  fear-sick  heart 

Is  the  knell ! 
118 


SONG 

It  tolls  and  it  tolls,  for  a  passing  chime ; 

Hush,  'tis  the  zephyr's  breath  ! 
The   breezes    blow,    and    the    blossoms 

climb — 

But  the  slow  voice  saith, 
Follow  !  for  now  is  the  hour  of  death, 
It  is  time  ! 

SONG 

WHAT  must  be  must  be,  little  one, 
The  dark  night  follow  the  day, 
And  the  ebbing  tide  to  the  seaward  glide 
Across  the  moonlit  bay. 

What  must  be  must  be,  little  one, 

The  winter  follow  the  fall, 

And  the  piying  wind  an  entrance  find 

Through  the  chinks  of  the  cottage  wall. 
119 


A    WATER-LILY 

What  must  be  must  be,  little  one, 

The  brown  hair  turn  to  gray, 

And  the  soul  like  the  light  of  the  early 

night 
Slip  gently  far  away. 


A  WATER-LILY 

ONE   soft   May  night   a  wandering  star 

bent  down 

And  kissed  its  image  in  the  gloomy  lake, 
And  with  the  morn  there  rose  a  golden 

crown, 
Pearl-strewn  with  dewdrops  for  the  lost 

star's  sake. 


120 


SONG 

WHEN   chimney  tops  are    capped   with 

snow 

And  the  gray  sun  his  face  doth  hide 
And  lassies'  cheeks  do  sweetly  glow 
And  tinkling  sleigh-bells  echo  wide, 
Old  Snook,  from  chilling  cold  or  gale 
Well-sheltered,  sips  his  cheerful  ale. 

When  winter  trees  stand  on  the  hill, 
White-robed  beneath  the  midnight  moon, 
And  the  clear  air  is  crisp  and  still, 
Sharp-whistled  rings  the  traveler's  tune, 
Old  Snook  snores  merrily  away, 
And  dreams  of  cheer  to-morrow  day, 
Of  fireside  cheer  to-morrow  day. 

121 


TRANSMIGRATION 

THE  shadows  lay 
Stretched  on  the  rank-grown  grass 

And  felt  the  day 
With  noiseless  footfall  pass 

Into  the  dark. 

So  still  she  went, 
Her  feathery  falling  tread, 

In  passing,  bent 
Scarcely  the  daisy's  head, 

White  in  her  path. 

Her  robe  just  swept 
Breeze-like  the  unshorn  field, 
And  where  she  stepped 

122 


TRANSMIGRA  TION 

The  nodding  grasses  yield 
Drowsy  farewell. 

Think  you  she  hied, 
Enamored  of  the  Sun, 

Where  his  flush  dyed 
With  red  th'  horizon's  dun, 

To  his  embrace  ? 

From  star  to  star, 
Through  weary  aeons  borne, 

She  wends  afar, 
To  kiss  each  waking  morn 

In  a  new  world. 

Sometime  will  cease 
Her  weary  round,  and  she 

Will  be  at  peace 
In  the  immensity 

Where  days  are  not. 
123 


THE   NORNS 

AFAR  in  the  land  of  the  midnight  sun, 
Where  the  great  lights  flash  o'er  a  frozen 
sea, 

Forever  they  sit  until  time  is  done, 
The  merciless  Norns,  the  sisters  three. 

And  one  is  young  and  fair  of  face, 
And  ever  she  sings  as  she  spins  away, 

With  careless  fingers  and  maiden  grace, 
The  threads  of  life  that  begin  to-day. 

And  one  is  fair  as  a  full-blown  flower 
That  has  felt  the  warmth  of  the  summer 

sun. 

124 


THE  NORNS 

With  roses  or  thorns,  each  passing  hour, 
She  decks  the  threads  that  the  first  has 
spun. 

But  the  third  is  haggard  and  old  and 

sere, 
With  ashen  lips  and  hopeless  eyes, 

Yet  sharp  on  the  thread,  as  it  draweth 

near, 
She  snaps  her  shears  like  an  iron  vise. 

Now   the   first   is   sweet   as   a   day   in 

spring, 

And  the  second  fair  as  a  summer  morn, 
But  the  sweetest  gift  that  the  sisters 

bring, 

Men  say,  are  the  shears  of  the  last  gray 
Norn. 

125 


RACHAEL  AT   RAMA 

SOMETIMES  love's   flood  tide   will  flow 

back  again, 

The  bloom  of  life  depart. 
Sometimes  the  eyes  we  love  grow  dull., 

and  then 
God  breaks  the  heart. 

Awake  the  pain  throbs  which  we  thought 

to  lull 

Before  the  day  was  done, 
And    saddened     steps,    slow-paced     and 

sorrowful, 

Wend  wandering  on. 
126 


PENELOPE 

God's  misty  mantle  clasps  us  in  the  fold, 

In  a  dim,  lonely  place  ; 
We  lift  sad  eyes  afar  and  there  behold 

The  great,  sweet  Tace. 


PENELOPE 

ACROSS  the  dim  and  gray  Ithacan  sea 
Thine  eyes,  unwearied,  gleam  upon  us 

still ; 

The  gods,  to  show  to  men  their  sover- 
eign will, 
Take  here  and  there  a  soul-type,  such  as 

thee, 
Not  only  for  Ulysses,  but  for  me. 

Deep    in     the    darkened    night,    with 
patient  skill, . 

127 


PENELOPE 

Weaving,    slowly    unweaving,    didst 

thou  fill 

Thy  woof  with  deeds  that  gleam  eternally, 
Fairer  than  all  the  shapes  of  lotos-dream- 
ing. 
How  well    Ulysses,   with   temptations 

by, 

Saw  that  unending  life  to  him  were 

vain, 

If  thou  were  not  beside  him,  wisely  deem- 
ing 
For  a  brave  soul  'twere  better  far  to 

die 

In  Right  than  live  in  an  immortal 
shame. 


128 


TRUE  DRAKE  AND  GENTLEMAN 
JOCEYLIN 

TRUE  DRAKE  and  Gentleman  Joceylin 
Ha'  grippit  each  a  hand 
And  lookit  wi'  the  broad  deep  love 
O*  two  strong  men  that  understand. 

"  The  years  may  be  long  and  sad,  Drake, 
Wi'  grim  death  running  thro', 
But  swear  you  will  love  me  as  true,  Drake, 
As  ever  I  love  you." 

"  Now  do  I  swear  by  God,  Joceylin, 

And  by  our  good  Lord's  birth, 

I'll  love  you  deeper  and  truer,  Joceylin, 

Than  any  man  upon  this  earth." 
129 


DRAKE  AND  JOCE  YLIN 

Gentleman  Joceylin  's  bowed  his  head 
And  gone  alone  apart. 
And  he  has  found  two  sailor  men 
And  opened  out  his  heart. 

"  You  shall  be  my  first  mate,  Jock, 
And  wear  a  coat  o'  pride, 
And  you  shall  be  my  second,  Frank, 
Wi'  a  bright  brand  at  your  side. 

"  And  ye  shall  ha'  a  pot  o'  gold 
To  spend  on  Rose  and  May, 
To  buy  them  gowns  an'  gilliflowers 
Upon  the  wedding  day. 

"  And  ye  shall  ha'  broad  bloomy  lands, 
Wi'  castles  on  a  hill, 
When  ye  shall  show  me  Captain  Drake 
All  cold  and  stark  and  still." 
130 


DRAKE  AND  JOCEYLIN 

It  is  the  little  cabin  boy 
That's  heard  this  wicked  talk, 
And  he  is  gone  to  Captain  Drake 
Where  he  does  scheme  and  walk. 

And  it's   "  Captain    Drake,   my  Captain 

Drake, 

His  blood  be  on  his  head, 
I  overhearit  Joceylin, 
And  this  is  what  he  said : 

"  '  Now  ye  shall  ha'  broad  bloomy  lands, 
Wi'  castles  on  a  hill, 
When  ye  shall  show  me  Captain  Drake 
All  cold  and  stark  and  still.' " 

True  Drake  has  called  his  good  crew  aft 
And  looked  them  in  the  eye, 
'3* 


DRAKE  AND  JOCE  YLIN~ 

"  There  be  three  men  o'  you,"  quo*  he, 
"  As  fain  would  see  me  die." 

Ye  might  ha'  heard  the  sea-fish  swim 
When  Jock  uprist  and  spake, 
"  It  is  na'  I,  but  Joceylin, 
For  truth,  my  Captain  Drake." 

Ye  might  ha'  heard  the  holt  rats  squeak 
When  Frank  uprist  and  spake, 
"  It  is  na'  I,  but  Joceylin, 
For  truth,  my  Captain  Drake." 

True  Drake  has  ta'en  a  hempin  rope 
And  made  a  knot  therein, 
And  he  has  twined  it  round  the  neck 
O'  his  friend  Joceylin, 

And  he  has  hangit  him  to  the  yard 
To  hang  till  he  is  dead. 
'3* 


DRAKE  AND  JOCE  YLIN 

"  Pray  for  his  soul,"  then  True   Drake 

cried ; 
"  His  blood  is  on  his  head  !  " 

True  Drake  has  ta'en  two  hempin  ropes 
And  made  two  knots  therein, 
And  he  has  hangit  Frank  and  Jock 
On  either  side  o'  Joceylin. 

"  All  that  ye  did  in  duty  true 

It  shall  be  writ  unto  the  end, 

But  Christ  ha*  mercy  on  your  souls 

That  ha'  betrayed  my  dearest  friend." 

True  Drake  has  ta'en  a  hard  tarred  rope 
(I  wot  it  was  twinit  cruel  thin), 
And  he  has  whippit  the  cabin  boy 
That  overhearit  Joceylin. 


DRAKE  AND  JOCEYLIN 

They  ha'  taken  Joceylin  from  the  yard 
And  laid  him  in  his  place, 
And  wrappit  him  wi'  winding  sheets 
Save  only  his  fair  face. 

True  Drake  has  droppit  on  his  knee 
And  taken  Joceylin's  two  hands 
And  lookit  on  him  wi'  the  love 
Of  a  strong  man  that  understands. 

"  Now  do  I  swear  by  God,  Joceylin, 
And  by  our  Right  Lord's  birth, 
I  love  you  deeper  and  truer,  Joceylin, 
Than  any  man  upon  this  earth." 

True  Drake  has  crossed  the  two  limp  hands 
Upon  the  cold  dead  breast, 
And  he  has  kissit  Joceylin 
And  prayed  his  soul  to  rest. 


A    THRENODY 

"  Stand  by  to  lay  him  in  the  sea, 
My  guns  shall  mark  him  to  his  place, 
Haul  down  yon  flag  to  half  the  mast  .  .  . 
Now — cover  my  friend's  face." 


A  THRENODY 

THE   dead,  they  say,  are  well,   whether 

there  be 

A  recompense  to  them  a  hundred  fold, 
For  life  and  toil,  of  happiness  untold, 
Or  dreamless  sleep  into  eternity. 
I  would  not,  then,  recall  thee  selfishly 
To  living  anguish,  long  endured  of  old  : 
Though  well  I  know,  when  lost  love's 

knell  was  tolled, 

The  feet  of  night  and  death  were  tramp- 
ling me ; 


THRENOD  Y 

But  knowing  that  thou,  weary,  hast  found 

peace, 
Resigned   am  I  to   grieving.     Let  the 

rage 

Of  life  the   merry,  reckless  world  en- 
gage; 

My  days  are  left  forlorn,  like  forest  trees 
Robbed  by  the  wintry  wrath  of  foliage, 
To  harp  the  wild  wind's  homeless  har- 
monies. 


RUBAlYAT 
I 

THE  quiet  Land  of  Sleep  lies  far  away 
Beyond  the  misty  Portals  of  the  Day, 

Not  all  the  silent  journey  fare  at  will, 
Tho'  none  the  drowsy  Porter  needs  must 
pay. 

II 

There   rise   the    unfathomed   springs   of 

sweet  Surprise. 
Where   What   we^  Know,  at   Naishdpur, 

outvies 

In  wonder  the  Unknown  and  yet  is  there 
Discerned  thro*  all  the  strangeness  of  its 

guise. 


RUBAtYAT 
III 

And   there,  transformed   by   alchemy  of 

night, 
The  ever-baffling  puzzles  of  the  light, 

The  weary  tangles  in  the  Thread  of  Life, 
Lie  all  unravel'd  to  our  clearer  sight. 

IV 

But  what,  O  Said,  if  this  land  of  Youth 
And   sweet  Delight  be  yet  the  land  of 

Truth  ? 

Do  we  that  bear  the  burden  of  the  noon 
Bear  it  but  vainly,  striving  to  our  ruth  ? 


Yet  may  we  trust,  tho*  long  deferred  our 

quest 

And  far  away  the  Islands  of  the  Blest, 
138 


RUBAfYAT 

The  unfolded  roll  of  Fate  to  read  at  last, 
And,  trusting  this,  be  careless  of  the  rest. 

VI 

For  Love  that  guards  us  Here  shall  guide 

us  There 
And  still  shall  guide  beyond  the  Portals, 

where, 
When  the  great  Riddle  is  at  last  re- 

solv'd, 
Shall  break  at  even's  close  a  Dawn  more 

fair. 


139 


AT   EVEN 

OVER  the  fields  the  sunset  glows, 
Pale  and  amber,  pink  and  rose, 

The  steepled  clock  strikes  solemnly, 
Two  times  three,  two  times  three. 

The  daytime  hum  of  the  town  is  still, 
The  gleaners  come  from  the  russet  hill, 

The  dark  steals  into  the  dusky  skies, 
Like  sleepy  light  in  children's  eyes. 

I  dream  and  hear  the  church-bell  ring, 

With  a  never-varying  solemn  swing, 
140 


AT  EVEN 

Every  night  in  the  seasons  four, 
Till  the  ivy  covers  the  creaking  door, 

Till  the  beams  of  the  old  spire  crumble 

down, 
And  the  churchyard  tombstones  turn  to 

brown, 

Wearily,  slowly,  peacefully, 
Two  times  three,  two  times  tnree. 


AN  INTERLUDE 

THE    wood-thrush    sings    no    more — no 

more. 

The  coulee  brook  runs  slow 
Through   choking  leaves,  and  the  forest 

floor 

Is  red  as  a  sunset  glow, 
And  with  the  still  frost  in  the  air 
Hangs  melancholy  everywhere. 

The  glory  of  November  days  ! 

The  forest  a  chameleon  is, 
From  green  it  blazes  red,  then  fades 

To  browns  and  yellows,  last  to  grays, 
And  dies  in  mournful  dust-drab  shades. 
142 


AN  INTERLUDE 

The  wood-thrush   sings   no   more — no 

more, 

The  far-stretched  forest  slowly  dies, 
The  ripple  of  the  breeze  comes  through 
As  fall  the  dead  leaves  one  and  two. 
Long  since  away  the  wood-thrush  flew. 

The  glory  of  November  days! 
The  clear-voiced  west  wind  sings  aloud 

Till  vanishes  the  soft  gray  haze 
And  comes  the  clinging  first  snow  shroud. 


TENDER  AND   COOL   IS   THE 
NIGHT 

TENDER  and  cool  is  the  night, 

And  the  day  is  sweet, 
But  the  sweetest  is  where  the  light 

And  the  darkness  meet. 

Sweet  is  the  man's  glad  day 
And  the  maiden's  dream, 

But  sweetest  the  joined  way, 
Love's  votaries  deem. 


144 


CRADLE  SONG 

SOFT  blue  eyes  and  curly  head, 
Even  elves  have  gone  to  bed, 
And  the  sand-man  tiptoes  down 
Starry  steps  of  dreamy-town  ; 
He  can  catch  you  if  he  tries, 
Curly  head  and  soft  blue  eyes. 

Somber  night  with  spectral  pall 
Sinks  upon  the  ivied  wall, 
Day  hath  found  her  western  grave, 
Shadowy  branches  weirdly  wave, 
Deep  beyond  the  drowsy  rill 
Sings  the  lonesome  whippoorwill. 


SLEEP 

Pealing,  pealing,  chimes  come  stealing 
Through  the  air  with  slumber-feeling. 
Tis  some  fairy  twilight  lyre, 
'Tis  the  vesper  in  the  spire, 
'Tis  the  music  stealing  down 
Star-steps  of  Oblivion-Town. 

SLEEP 

DOWN  through  the  mist  of  half -forgotten 
things 

Tired  spirits  sink  beneath  night's  slum- 
berous sea 

And,  lapped  in  dream-waves,  hear  soft 
murmurings 

Of  Life's  blest  prelude  to  Eternity. 


146 


VILLANELLE 

IN  my  castle  in  Spain 

There  are  treasures  unseen — 
Ah,  that  dreams  were  not  vain  ' 

Great  pomp  I  maintain, 

And  the  State  is  serene 
In  my  castle  in  Spain. 

More  blissful  my  reign 

Than  the  Caesars',  I  ween : 
Ah,  that  dreams  were  not  vain  i 

When  my  fancy  is  fain, 
There  is  revelry  keen 
In  my  castle  in  Spain. 
147 


BLOCK  ISLAND 

But  if  one  guest  would  deign 

To  be  oftener  seen 

(Ah,  that  dreams  were  not  vain  !) 

Is  there  need  to  explain  ? 

Who,  then,  should  be  queen 
In  my  castle  in  Spain  ? 
Ah,  that  dreams  were  not  vain  ! 


BLOCK    ISLAND 

To  sleep  invites  the  warm  bright  air 
In  shadeless  hollows  resting,  where 
The  chirping  crickets  move  among 
Red,  drooping  clover  heads  upsprung 
From     plots     of     green     that     slumber 
there. 

148 


BLOCK  ISLAND 

Outside,  the  sea  is  sparkling  fair, 
With  ripples  idly  beating,  ere 
Upon  the  sand  in  silence  flung 
To  sleep. 

Now  stirs  a  lazy  breeze,  to  bear 
Still  heavier  summons  to  repair 

To  porches,  and  in  hammocks  hung 
Hear  naught  but  rustling  grasses  swung 
Till  fallen,  free  from  any  care, 
To  sleep. 


149 


THE    CYNIC 

HE  is  not  like  the  other  boys 

Who  play  Love's  game  of  Hood-man 

Blind. 
While  others  draw  their  world-sweet  toys, 

A  little  hearse  he  drags  behind. 

A   DIRGE 

Where  my  grave  lies  wide  and  white. 

White  and  wide, 

Will  she  come  and  weep  to-night  f 

When  the  somber-skirted  winds 

Surge  across  the  snow, 
Clasp  me  in  their  flowing  garments, 

Pass  his  grave  and  sweep  away  and  go, 


A   DIRGE 

I  will  kneel  and  weep  and  weep 
Through  his  dreaming  and  his  sleep 

Till  my  grief  is  told, 
And  the  sorrow  in  my  heart 

Numb  with  frost  and  cold. 

/  would  lie  so  peacefully 

Could  she  sorrow  over  me. 

Where  my  grave  lies  wide  and  white, 

White  and  wide. 

Will  she  come  and  weep  to-night  ? 

When  the  spring  steals  over  him, 

Lurks  in  leaf  and  bud, 
And  the  balmy  winds  float  by, 

And  their  music  creeps  into  my  blood, 
I  will  soothe  him  with  my  sighs 
Mixed  with  moaning  melodies, 


A   DIRGE 

That  his  soul  may  rest ; 

I  will  smother  all  the  pain 

Deep  within  my  breast. 

Where  the  shadow  covers  me 
From  the  headstone  tall  and  white, 
White  and  tall, 
While  she  come  and  weep  to-night  ? 

When  the  leaves  whirl  over  him, 

And  the  skies  are  gray, 
And  the  sobbing  winds  go  by 

To  and  fro  where  my  lost  love  done  lay, 
I  will  cover  the  last  embers 
Of  the  joy  that  youth  remembers, 

I  will  fold  him  there 
In  the  bosom  of  my  sorrow 

And  the  heart  of  my  despair. 


MOON-  WINE 

Where  the  moon  is  cold  and  bright 
And  my  grave  lies  wide  and  white, 
White  and  wide, 
Will  she  come  and  weep  to-night  ? 


MOON-WINE 

WHO  knows  what  the  moon  discovers 

By  wizard  wood  and  stream  ? 

How  many  slow  night-rovers 

Pass  through  her  shade  and  gleam  ? 

How  many  silent  lovers 

Look  up  in  her  face  and  dream  ? 

But  if  they  would  only  listen 
And  watch  what  the  glow-worms  do, 
That  out  of  the  leaves  new  risen 
Flicker  the  forest  through, 


MOON- WINE 

They  might  learn  why  the   moonlight's 

glisten 
Makes  faded  love  seem  true. 

For  wherever  the  glow-worm,  blinking, 

Comes  to  a  lost  moonbeam, 

He  shows  six  goblins  drinking, 

Their  lips  in  the  slender  stream. 

But  I  never  have  seen  them.    I'm  thinking 

It  may  be  a  witch-wife's  dream. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SAILOR'S 
SON 

IN  the  valleys,  on  the  hills, 
I  can  hear  the  deep  sea  sing  ; 

By  the  little  meadow  rills 
I  can  feel  the  spin-drift  sting. 

I  can  see  the  leaden  ocean, 
I  can  taste  the  bitter  brine, 

I  can  balance  to  the  motion 
Through  this  heritage  of  mine. 

Know :  I  am  my  father's  son, 
And  a  sailorman  was  he, 

So  my  life  is  just  begun 

When  I  shall  put  out  to  sea. 
'55 


SONG  FROM  "PHOCION  AND 
CHLORIS  " 

Phocion  : 

Now  while  brown  doves  are  brooding  in 

your  eyes 
Give  me  your  lute  and  listen  while  I  sing. 

(Sings.) 

Flower  of  the  rose, 
Open  thy  petals  and  the  dew  disclose 
Caught  from  the  morning  !      Ah  !    hide 

not  too  long 
Thy  silken  folds  among, 
In  crimson  splendor, 
Thy  nestling  tender ! 

156 


"  PHOCION  AND   CHLOR1S" 

Open,  for  love  and  light  are  fair, 
The  golden  glories  of  Apollo's  hair 

Stream  on  the  dotted  leas 
And  on  the  midmost  purple  of  the  seas. 

Chloris  : 

O  dim  sea ! 

Haunt  of  the  white  pearl 
Where  the  corals  curl 
Their  crystal  edges  dreamingly ! 
Thou  whose  children  wear 
Inwoven  in  their  hair 
A  light  that  draws  the  sailors  down  the 

wet  ways  of  despair ! 
In  whose  green,  silken  glisten 
The  sea-nymphs  pause  and  listen 
And  the  sea-monsters  lift  their  heads  and 
stare  ! 


DRINKING    TEA 

No  water-child  am  I, 
But  an  earth-maiden  who  must  love  and 

die— 
*         *         *         #          #         •* 

Ah !    see,   my    music's     tangled    in    the 

strings. 
You  should  not  kiss  me  till  the  song  was 

done. 

DRINKING   TEA 

CLAUDE  and  Mabel  drinking  tea, 
And  the  cat,  too  ;  that  made  three. 
In  the  twilight,  pensively, 

"  Claude,"  said  Mabel,  half  in  jest, 
"  Which  of  us  is  happiest  ?  " 

"  Faith,"  said  Claude,  "  you  know,  my  dear, 
I  am  happy,  being  here  ; 
158 


DRINKING    TEA 

"  You  are  happy,  I  construe, 
Simply  because  you  are  you." 

So  they  smiled,  well  pleased  thereat, 
Let  the  problem  rest  at  that, — 
But  they  quite  forgot  the  cat. 


ENVOY 

TO   SIDNEY   ROBINSON  KENNEDY 

The  golden  days  that  will  not  come  again  : 
Battell  rings  cut  its  call,  yet  I  remain  ; 
Your  fire  is  whitening  fast,  as  on  the  sill 
I  knock  my  ashes  out  and  hear  the  chill, 
Unending  fall  of  the  New  Haven  rain 
Beat  noisily  against  your  window  pane. 
We  heed  it  not :  our  castles  are  in  Spain, 
And  dreams  of  conquest  worth  the  winning 

fill 

The  golden  days. 

They  come  not  back  to  us  ;  that  happy  train 
Of  dreams  has  vanished  with  their  dear  de- 
mesne, 

Yet  have  they  left  their  benison,for  still 
The  selfsame  sympathy  for  good  or  ill 
Is  ours  to-day,  altho'  we  seek  in  vain 
The  golden  days. 


160 


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